


Touch

by songsofcerulean



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsofcerulean/pseuds/songsofcerulean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We don't touch." One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Initially posted to fanfiction.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, all I own are my pride and my sword.

We don't touch. We never touch. Not anymore, that is. I've tried to pinpoint the moment it changed-the moment we stopped touching each other. Maybe if I could remember the last time I could find a reason for it. Maybe I could fix it. As if something were broken.

A captain shouldn't touch her crew. I'm sure that a touch on the arm, a hand on the shoulder, would be overlooked. Those things can be considered acceptable. I try to remember the first time I leaned into that touch. The unfortunate truth is I can't remember a time that I didn't. The moment I realized it--that might have been the last time. While a hand on the shoulder is one thing, a palm on the chest is another. It crosses some kind of invisible barrier. One that was breached the first time we met face to face. My palm on his chest; that's how our relationship started. The first time it had purpose. I can justify it that once, but only that once. I was doing my duty, trying to protect a member of my crew, keeping a situation from escalating.

I leaned in that first time.

Tuvok has noticed. I find it strange that his Vulcan form of curiosity is piqued by something that shouldn't happen not happening. It is true that my "interaction with the commander has deviated in recent months." I can't deny that to myself. I did, however, deny that to him in as few words as I possibly could. Even though my dear friend has interacted with shipmates who are mostly human for the past four years, he didn't pick up on my subtext--or chose to ignore it--and cited several instances, some with empirical data, during which my "behavior indicates that that is not the case."

Damn Vulcan logic.

My inquiry as to how my lack of physical contact was of concern to ship's security managed to signal that our conversation had come to a close. I would like to have had the last word. "It is not the ship I am concerned about." Even captains can't always get what they want.

Have I really fallen so far? It's something I contemplate during times like these. Quiet moments when the captain is still ever on alert but has receded with the chaos of this quadrant. These are dangerous times. How easy it could be to forget where we are, who we are, and why we are here. In this quiet space with death behind us and months before us, it could be the end of us all. I've lost a purpose. I cannot risk another.

That may be why we don't touch. Yet.


End file.
